Riding Rainbows
by Glitterberryy
Summary: Not everything goes to plan...even a simple sky dive. One-shot. Prompted.


**Here's another quickie I tapped out whilst my baby had her 20 minute nap. I haven't really looked it over, so excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes. Just a type and post, this one! **

**Have a good day! :)**

**Prompt: Write about a skydiving adventure that goes horribly wrong.**

* * *

"You are crazy!" Danny yells to Steve, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"C'mon Danno, it's just a bit of fun!" Steve shouts back from behind him, pushes up against Danny's back, edging him closer to the open door.

"Fun? _Fun?_!" Danny squeals, tries to ignore the air whipping furiously around his body, arms outstretched and hands clamped on the metal frame, tries to fight Steve as he pushes closer still, but is loosing his battle.

"It's for charity!" Steve reminds him, his voice almost getting lost in the whistles and howls of frantic wind. "It'll be a piece of cake, just remember your training! Ready?"

"No!"

"One...two..."

"I've changed my..."

"_Three_!"

Danny's screams get lost as Steve's body forces his out of the plane, and then he's falling, faster than he cares to think about, cares to _see,_ and he's sure he can't catch his breath because the air is so thin and he's forgotten if he was advised to breath through his mouth or through his nose. He tries both, anyway, and finds that with each lungful of crisp, fresh air, the panic simmers a little and he's left with almost coherent thoughts.

And then he opens his eyes.

The first thought that crosses his mind is that the islands looks beautiful from up here. And small. Then remembers why, and the panic starts to approach him again, inching it's way up his back. Tries to remember when he should pull his 'chute, at what altitude, wonders if he's going to be one of those guys with a faulty one, because knowing his (bad) luck, he'd be the one guy who picked the pack that hadn't been checked. Or worse, someone was going to try and kill him by cutting some cords, because, Hell, he's Steve Mc-friggin-Garrett's partner and if anyone was going to have homicidal enemies, it'd be him. And they might just succeed, Danny decides, because he can't remember seeing the yellow 'checked' tag, and a new wave of panic hits him. He swallows hard against the bile clawing at his throat, suppresses the fireball of nausea in the pit of his stomach, doesn't really like the way his body feels weightless yet heavy at the same time, and mentally promises that as soon as this is over, if he makes it out of this alive, he's never, ever, going to let his feet leave the ground again. _Ever._

He pulls his outstretched arm into his body, kind of feels like he's torpedoing through thick water, to check the gauge on his shoulder strap. He's already at 10,000 feet, wonders where the other two thousand went in only a matter of seconds, realises it's only going to be a few mere minutes before he's ready to make impact with the ground unless he can remember what his instructor had taught him in the ten – yes, _ten _– lessons he'd insisted he underwent. Wished he'd opted for the tandem dive Steve had offered instead of letting the testosterone getting in the way. Next time, he's going to let the SEAL win in the macho department, because dammit, Danny would rather be a living chicken than a dead vindicator.

Danny takes a look around for his partner, is relieved when he sees Steve falling next to him, looks almost as if he's just floating there, in a wind tunnel, and signals that he's okay, because even though he's sure he's soiled his boxers a little, and that he may have vomited in his mouth at least twice already, he's still alive and he's not about to freak out and pull the cord too early. Waits for a response – probably only for a couple of seconds, but up here a couple of seconds can be the difference between life and death – signals again when there is none. Makes an attempt at ignoring the voice screaming in his head that something isn't right, Steve isn't 'okaying' back, and that means that he's _not_ okay.

Danny looks around for their instructors – the two men free falling near him and Steve too – wonders if they've noticed that something isn't right, either. Danny looks at his gauge again, almost forgets that he could be plummeting to his death when he realises that they're at 7,000 feet, and in only another two thousand they _have_ to pull the cord and deploy the parachute. Glances back at Steve, who's made no attempt to communicate with him, with anyone, looks like a ragdoll being dropped from the top of the empire state building. Danny's heart skips a beat as he sees, barely, that Steve's eyes are closed, his mouth slack. And then he forgets he's falling fast, at 6,000 feet, because if anything is going to override his fear and lack of logical thoughts, it's going to be his concern and almost brotherly (yes, only almost, because there's _no way _he'd actually let his _real brother_ talk him into skydiving!) love for his best friend.

He waves to the instructor closest to Steve, get his attention and points at the falling SEAL, tries to put all the urgency, worry and plight into each jab with his finger. Watches as the guy, either Stan or Bill – Danny's not sure which - angles his body towards Steve, pulls his arms to his side and torpedo's toward him, the years or experience clearly evident. Danny watches as Stan/Bill pulls Steve's body to his, tries to rouse the unconscious 6ft oaf, feels sick when he realises it's not working. He pulls at his gauge again, looks back even more concerned when he sees they're at 5, 400 feet – just 400 away from pulling their 'chutes. Stan/Bill seems to realise the same thing, pulls a clamp from his safety belt and straps himself onto Steve's safety harness, signals for the other instructor, Bill/Stan, to join him and do the same, and then another wave of panic and concern as Danny realises it's because they don't think Steve will come to, to be able to pull his own cord.

5, 300 feet.

The second instructor seems to fly past Danny, quicker then he's seen anyone move in the air, but then, Danny hadn't made it a habit to watch people sky dive, ever. Kind of reminds him of a huge eagle.

5,200 feet.

He reaches Steve quickly, tries to grab hold of the limp arm, but misses, ends up moving further away from him. Danny twitches, his hand reaching for the tab on his shoulder.

5, 100 feet.

Bill/Stan makes a move to try and grab him again, Stan/Bill trying to reach and pull him closer too, is successful at grabbing hold of Steve's coat, signals to the other instructor that he's okay, he's got a hold of him. Fiddles with the clip on his belt.

5,000 feet.

Danny watches, starts to feel his heart hammering harder, the adrenaline in his system only pumping faster, doesn't want to pull the cord, because dammit, Steve's not okay and you never leave a man behind.

4,900 feet.

The second instructor finally gets his belt clipped to Steve's safety harness, and then Steve's muscular body is dangling in between the two smaller men, attached only by two small pieces of metal.

4,800 feet.

One of the instructors looks over to Danny, signals to pull open his parachute, and Danny nods, because time is running out and the closer to the ground he gets, the faster he's falling and he's already 300 feet over the limit. He pulls hard, loses the air in his lungs as the chute springs open, pulls him back a little before turning his fall into something a lot more comfortable, slower, and in Danny's opinion, safer. He watches as, just two seconds later, two more parachutes are deployed in unison, and then they're all floating, using the small ropes to direct and shift positions, aiming themselves so in 3 to 4 minutes, they'll land in the right spot.

They are, undoubtedly, the slowest, most beautiful and worrisome 3 to 4 minutes Danny has experienced for a long, but not long enough, while.

Danny touches down first, doesn't have time to feel impressed that he's landed on his feet, running towards the crowd, comes to a stop as the crowd starts towards him. Only focuses on two of the dozen faces cheering and clapping, locks eyes with them both, and they don't need to say anything, because they're all Ohana; they know what each others saying before they even say it.

"Medic! Get a medic!" Danny cries out when Chin and Kono are in hearing range, and then Chins spinning on his heels, racing back into the crowd and out of sights as Kono jogs to get ahead of the celebrations, forces them all to stop and step back. Only takes a couple of seconds and a flash of her FIVE-0 badge for everyone to listen, to stop and look on confused and intrigued.

The two instructors land awkwardly, Steve's feet and calves dragging on the ground as they try and transfer the energy into the ground and slow the momentum. And then, Danny's ripping off his harness and parachute, disposing them on the floor, and racing towards the three men as they come to a stop. The instructors are equally as quick to strip down, and Danny gently lowers Steve on to the ground and onto his back.

"Steve, buddy?" Danny tries to rouse him, slaps him on the cheeks a couple of times, jabs his fingers under his jaw line, sighs in relief when he feels a steady thump-thump thump-thump. Looks up as Chin and two medics push through the crowd.

"What happened?" One guy asks, and Danny steps back, joins Chin and Kono as the look on, feels his legs shake as adrenaline wears off.

"Uh, I dunno. He just passed out." Danny answers, waves trembling hands, as one of the medics strap an oxygen mask on to Steve's face, turns the tank valve as far as it will go, and the other pricks one of Steve's fingers with a blood sugar monitor.

"I tried to rouse him, but was unsuccessful." The instructor that Danny can now see is Stan reports as Steve starts to groan, and his hand twitches. The blood monitor beeps and the medic speaks to the other, but doesn't try to keep his voice down.

"Low blood sugar."

"Strong pulse, oxygen sats are slowly increasing. Doesn't take a genius to work this one out."

"What's going on?" Danny asks, hands folding across his chest, his concern lessening as Steve slowly comes to.

"Commander McGarrett has low blood sugar, so that mixed with the adrenaline and decreased oxygen levels caused him to faint."

"I'm sorry." Danny shakes his head, a hand worms loose and swoops before him. "That's funny, because I thought you just said that this guy here, a _navy SEAL_, just fainted doing a skydive."

"Yes, sir." The medic nods and Steve's eye flicker open. "He'll be fine in a couple of minutes. We just need to get his o2 levels above 95% and then he'll need to eat something."

Danny stares for a second, allows the information to sink in. Can't stop the sudden outburst of laughter.

"D'ny?" Steve mumbles, blinks a few times, hand reaches up to remove the oxygen mask but the medic stops him, calmly explains he still needs to keep it on.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty." Danny laughs, stands so he's in Steve's eye line. "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?" He asks groggily, looks at the medics, who are smiling softly enough to keep him from being overly concerned. Danny laughs again, doesn't seem to be able to stop himself.

"You, Steven, have made my day, that's what has happened. We just completed a 12,000 foot sky dive together, and I pulled it off perfectly. I didn't die, didn't chicken out, made it back to Earth safely. And you? You _fainted!_" Danny guffaws, stands back because he's sure he's getting a little hysterical, wipes as the tears fall from his eyes, laughs a little harder.

"I don't..." Steve frowns, looks around at the smiling instructors, the entertained cousins looking at him, the relieved crowd.

"You know what, babe? You stay there and get your oxygen levels back to normal." Danny says, tries to calm himself with some deep breaths. "Me? I'm going for a beer and something to eat. You can just join me when you're feeling up to it!" He waves a hand in the air as he heads through the parting crowd. "Skydiving? Ha! _Piece of cake_!" He laughs, as he disappears from sight.

He's never going to let this one go.


End file.
